CHAPTER 2

LEXIE

Why. Why did I flipped them off. Now I’m going to—

“Stay still, bitch,” the tall man with a moustache said, “unless you wanna get hurt.”

There were three of them, all of them smiling like maniacs, their eyes hungry, looking at her up and down.

She tried crying for help but doing that now would make things worse.

“Take my purse,” she said, “please, don’t hurt me.”

“Fuck your purse girl,” the skinny man with yellow teeth said, his voice like a dog barking, “you think we’re stupid? You gonna pay.”

Her eyes began to well. This is it. This is how it ends.

She thought of the idiocy of it all. She was walking back home from her job at the shoe store. She had to stay late to finish taking inventory.

On her way back home, she passed these… junkies, or whatever they were and they began catcalling her. In her frustration she did what anyone would’ve done. She flipped them off.

No one would have done that. Not in this neighborhood. Not anywhere.

So this is how it ended.

She held back tears. There was no way out now. She threw her purse at them, “just take it, please!”

The smaller guy picked it up and took her wallet out.

“Eight dollars?” he complained, “we doin’ this for eight-freakin-dollars?”

“Calm down,” moustache guy said, “we’re not done yet.”

He took another step toward her. They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me.

Fuck it. She wouldn’t die so easily.

She yelled and ran to the street, but Moustache was fast, he grabbed her shirt and pulled, throwing her off balance, hurling her to the wall.

She barely registered the movement, one second she took a step forward, the next she was in pain, on the floor of a dark alleyway, three scumbags surrounding her.

“Now, now, bitch,” Moustache said, “don’t I was gonna go easy on you.”

Something glinted in his hand. His grin said everything.

He’s carrying a knife.

She almost laughed. Thirty minutes ago she was thinking about all of the unpaid overtime hours she was working, fantasizing about demanding a raise, knowing full well that she wouldn’t do it, even though rent was due in five days and she was barely scraping by.

That was her world. Worrying. But now that didn’t seem so bad. She’d kill to be able to worry about anything for another day. Just give me another day, she pleaded to the sky.

Moustache grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up.

“Let’s see what we got here.”

He licked his lips, moving closer, trapping her against the wall. When he was an inch close, she did the unthinkable, she headbutted him hard enough for the man to release her.

“You fucking bitch!” Moustache yelled, she tried to run but Skinny slapped her before she could step away, instantly taking her arm, Small jumped closer and grabbed her. She smelled the sweat and filth they were covered with and almost gagged.

“I’m gonna cut you up, bitch,” Moustache said, “I’m gonna make you sorry…”

He eyed her, and in a sudden movement ripped open her shirt, her breasts suddenly exposed.

“But first we’re gonna have some fun,” he said.

She kicked and screamed, but no one was listening. Not out here, in this neighborhood. She was just another victim. She’ll be on the news tomorrow, another statistic.

Her kick connected. Hitting Moustache right in the groin, bending him over.

“You whore!” Skinny said and grabbed her by the hair.

Moustache looked up, fire in his eyes. This was it. She was dead. But the other option was worse.

Moustache stood up, his knife out in the open, a big switchblade.

He jumped at her and she just closed her eyes, her scream filling the night. Tears streaming down her face.

“You let her go and we let you live,” a deep voice said, resonating in the alleyway.

Skinny and Small released her. She had no strength, fear had taken everything from her. She dropped to the ground, trying to cover her breasts, cowering.

The voice spoke again, and suddenly she felt safe. Someone came, someone heard her. Maybe she was—

There were two of them, and they weren’t cops.

At least they didn’t look like cops. A streetlight flickered behind them but she couldn’t make them out.

“Walk away,” another voice said. It was the taller man. They were huge, and that man’s voice sounded like a threat.

The light flickered on and she saw them more clearly. They looked like businessmen. One of them had a light suit with a dark, expensive-looking teal shirt. No tie. His friend wore a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

“You motherfuckers wanna get killed?” Moustache said, brandishing his knife, “you look like it.”

Small and Skinny went to either side of them. This is it Lexie, get up and run. It’s your only chance.

But she couldn’t. She was paralyzed with fear.

Moustache bolted towards the man in a suit, his blade forward. Lexie held her breath, this was her fault. Men were going to get killed because of her stupidity.

But Suit moved to the side, easily, as if he was used to this, and his fist hit Moustache right in the middle of the face, the bone crunching sound startled her, shivers ran down her spine.

Moustache dropped down instantly, unconscious.

Small and Skinny stepped back, looking at each other with a confused expression, Skinny gritted his teeth and both of them jumped at Suit at the same time.

He stepped back and raised his guard, covering himself from the barrage of blows from both of his attackers.

Sleeves stepped forward to help, hitting Skinny on his lower back, his yell caught up in his throat, bending over to the side before the huge man picked him up and raised him over his head, as if he weighted nothing.

His friend, Small, stepped back, his eyes full of fear. Suit struck him right in the chin, making him lose his balance.

“No, no, please! It wasn’t me!” He pleaded as he scrambled to get himself together on the floor.

“That’s what you all say,” Suit said, walking over to him slowly.

Small jumped and ran away, but Sleeves threw Skinny right at him, dropping him to the ground.

Suit turned to look at her, and lightning bolts coursed through her body. His bright eyes glinted in the darkness, like a ray of hope.

“You’ll be fine,” he said.

Beside him, Moustache screamed, suddenly alive, his eagerness to kill not yet satiated.

“You fuckers…”

He still lay on the ground, trying to get up, and picked up the blade.

Sleeves stomped on his hand, crushing it under his weight, the switchblade hit the floor a few feet away.

He grabbed Moustache from the floor like a rag doll, said “don’t do that,” and hit him again so hard in the stomach his body went limp.

Suit looked up at his friend, and she followed his eyes.

Shit. Who are these people?

Sleeves looked like a rockstar, short black hair, tattoos on his forearms, and an “I-don’t-want-any-friends” grimace.

“Thanks,” he told him, but Sleeves wasn’t paying attention. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned the blood from his fists, and extended his hand to her.

“We need to go.”

Thunder cracked above and the sky ripped open. Rain poured out like it was the Flood.